


Fire

by LadyNobody



Series: The Answer Is Blowing In The Wind [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Gen, I don't know how to tag this, and has some feels, jesse went back to his now abandoned town, just a bit, old memories die hard i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 19:19:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12918537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNobody/pseuds/LadyNobody
Summary: While on the run McCree goes on a trip down memory lane.<br />It doesn't end too well...He could hear his dog happily barking as splinters tried to slip inside the old leather of his gloves.Funny how everything in that place seemed to hate him.And how could he blame it?





	Fire

_“If you ever plan to motor West,_  
_travel my way, take the highway, that’s the best._  
_Get your kicks on Route 66”_

He could still hear that old song swirling in the saloon, gently dancing from the old jukebox in the right corner.  
It was a stupid song, too old even when he was a scrawny little thing.  
  
Everybody knew that crossing that Route meant trouble.  
  
_Meant Deadlock._

Puffs of dust came to life under his dirty boots,  
as he started to wonder pass the saloon.  
It seemed like the old wood was screeching,  
crack from the pain of being awoken after so long.  
  
It was sunny outside,  
like always in that damned land.  
  
_Nothing but sun and clear blue sky._  
  
Heat.  
A lot of dry, devouring heat, sitting idly on your back and shoulders,  
mouthing heavy words cracked by a tiredness,  
a tiredness that promised to stay in your bones forever.  
  
_The heat never really left you._

Curse that place.  
Curse him for even thinking of going back.  
_Curse him for loving it still._

The hay creaked as he jumped off the porch,  
trying to avoid the steps  
now nothing more but rotten wood.  
  
His spurs tinkled,  
echoing through the small town,  
and for a heartbeat it was like they had awoken its ghost.  
  
Their sound filling the streets turned to chatter and laughs.  
Here, Old Joe was mumbling something before passing out, dead drunk.  
There Miss Johnson -with her ridiculous umbrella against the sun- was flirting with the married Mr. Donovan.  
The smell of fresh bread,  
burning hot pecan pies,  
dogs barking in an alley as a cat jumped in a trash can…  
  
Hal -the grocery man- shouted behind a young brat, not older than six and with a tooth still missing.  
  
He bumped against him,  
  
no…  
  
_someone behind._  
  
So he turned while the kid stumbled and tried to get back to his feet.  
A golden star almost blinded his cedar eyes and without realizing, he mimicked the boy, wrinkling his nose and taking a step back.

_“You shouldn’t get yourself in trouble, kiddo. Now go bring those apples back to Hal, you don’t want your ma’ worrying again this week, do you?”_

The man scowled at his hesitation.  
But couldn’t hid well the faint smile stretching his lips.  
He crouched in front of him, placing his old hat on that messy brown hair.  
  
_“Now that you’re wearing this, you’ll be my second in command: no more stealing and lollygagging._  
_A true man knows that justice ain’t gonna dispense itself._  
_He needs to be the first to act according to the rules._  
_Understood, kiddo?”_

“Yes, sheriff”

His voice was nothing more than a whisper in the desert, as he watched the memories fading away,  
leaving only silence behind.

Casting his eyes away from the concrete, he started to move once again.  
  
Mindlessly.  
  
Aimlessly.  
  
The rarefied air burned his lungs as the dust tried to strangle him,  
wanting to keep the stranger away from its abandoned kingdom.

_But he was no stranger._

The old, crappy cowboy hat, low on his eyes, hid the sun-kissed skin,  
the dusty serape, loose on his shoulders, covered lungs trained _by sand and fists._  
  
Grimace stained his memory as a bitter smile tilted the corner of his cracked dry lips.  
Oh, if only the old sheriff knew what a disappointment he had been.  
  
Running away like a scared dog under the pouring rain of his mother’s funeral.  
He didn’t even said goodbye.  
He didn’t even look back.  
He just wiped off the tears as his feet splashed in the mud.  
  
Mindlessly.  
  
Aimlessly.  
  
Away.  
  
He just wanted to go away.  
Not for long, he just needed some time…

_But the desert was no place for a scrawny little kid._

It had him down on his knees by the morning after.  
Legs too tired to walk.  
Eyes too dry to shed tears.  
Voice too hoarse to cry some more.  
  
_He fell._  
  
Limbs slowly melting together with the concrete as he laid face down,  
gulping handfuls of dirt and mouthfuls of regret.  
It was in that moment,  
when the haze of the desert -avid for his life- almost took all his sight,  
  
_that he saw them._  
  
Ghosts and devils, dancing in the fire that was suddenly everywhere around him.  
They lurked forward, lonely shadows made of hunger and rage.  
A hand grabbed him by the hair.  
He remembered a wicked grin and bloody teeth.

Oh, his mother had told him to let it be.  


_To let the desert keep on existing without him._

But in the end, he had sold his soul to the calling,  
handing himself over to that sweet melody.

_And now he was gone._

His steps came to a stop and he couldn’t help the sadness kissing his eyes  
as his distant smile wasn’t able to reach them.

He could feel the old, stale wood whispering stories about another life,  
  
_another time._  
  
He could hear his dog happily barking as splinters tried to slip inside the old leather of his gloves.  
_Funny how everything in that place seemed to hate him._  
And how could he blame it?

His gaze stopped just an instant before it could reach what he still couldn’t face.  
  
_Pathetic._  
  
He couldn’t even force himself to watch his old house one last time.  
  
He knew that if not now, he would not have a second chance.  
He knew the weight on his chest would never lift,  
  
and yet…

The wind blew in that forgotten valley.  
Howling.  
Screaming his name.  
Making those tumbleweeds cross his path as he stepped away,  
  
_the splinters on his gloves cutting deep in his heart._  
  
An eagle circled on top of that god forgotten land.  
  
Maybe it too had lost its way home a long time ago.  
  
And as he lighted up one of his cigar he could feel it cry.  
  
It sounded like a plea he knew in his soul.

Nothing but sun and clear blue sky ahead.  
  
Nothing but heat and regrets.  
  
But that old tune called to him, inviting, like it always did.  
  
and the man of the desert…  
  
well  
  
_he could only answer._


End file.
